The Rival Heirs Part 7

Wilfred lost all control, sprang at Etienne, struck him in a downright English fas.h.i.+on between the eyes, and knocked him down.

The knife fell from his hand, and Wilfred seized it before the other youths could recover from their astonishment, and flung it into a pond close at hand.

Etienne rose up.

Now my young readers will probably antic.i.p.ate a bout at fisticuffs; but no such vulgar a combat commended itself to the proud young Norman, even thus suddenly humiliated; neither did he, under these very trying circ.u.mstances, lose his self command.

Yet his hatred was none the less, nor did he cherish a less deadly design.

"Let the young brute go," said he, as he arose, pointing to Eadwin.

"There is something more important to be settled now than the question whether the young porker shall retain his cloven hoof or not. Wilfred, dost thou know thou hast struck a gentleman?"

"I have struck a young butcher."

"Thanks; churls fight with words; knights, and would-be knights, with swords. Draw, then, and defend thyself; Pierre and Louis will see fair play."

"Nay," said the other two lads with one voice, "it were a sin and shame to fight thus, and we should have our knighthood deferred for years did we permit it. Pages may not fight to the death without the permission of their liege lord. The baron must give permission."

"Wilfred, dost thou accept my challenge? I honour thy base blood in making it."

"My ancestors were as n.o.ble as thine; nay, they ruled here while thine were but pirates and cutthroats. I do accept it."

"Let us separate, then; we meet here at daybreak tomorrow."

"But the permission of our lord?"

"I will answer for that," replied his hopeful son.

The party separated: Wilfred took his foster brother, who had not made the least attempt to escape from the scene, trusting to the love of his young lord for protection, and no sooner were they alone than the poor lad overwhelmed his deliverer with thanks, in which tears were not unmixed, because he knew that a price had yet to be paid, and that his beloved master was in danger.

"Nay, nay, Eadwin, I shall do very well--if not, there is not much left to live for now--only you must take care of yourself, or they may avenge themselves on you; indeed, when the baron hears the tale, I doubt not that he will send for you, and then I may not be able to save you--you must fly."

"Not till I know--"

"Yes, this very night--thou knowest the Deadman's Swamp?"

"Well."

"The Normans could never find thee there, and thou and I have threaded its recesses a hundred times; go to the hollow tree where we have slept before now in our hunting days. I will seek thee tomorrow, if I live. If I do not appear before midday, you had better seek our people, whom these tyrants have driven to the greenwoods."

"I know where to find them, but you will come; why not fly to the woods with me now?"

"Honour prevents. And after all, you had better say goodbye at once to those at home, and be off: perhaps I had better say goodbye for thee--it will be safest."

A few more parting instructions, and they separated; the young thrall actually kneeling and kissing his young lord's hand with that devoted love nought save such obligations could give.

Wilfred was returning to the castle, when he met Pierre, who was evidently seeking him.

"Wilfred," he said, "I have come to offer you my services for tomorrow; you will want the offices of a friend."

"Art thou my friend?"

"Yes, since I see thou art not a coward. While I saw thee suffering insult after insult without ever resenting them, I thought thee craven, and could not speak thee fair; now thou art as one of us."

"Thou art not like other Normans, then."

"I am not Norman, but Breton, and perhaps we do not love the Normans over much in Brittany; at least, I can feel for one in thy position."

"Thanks," was all that Wilfred could stammer out.

These were almost the first kind words he had heard since his mother's death, save in those stolen moments when he had been alone amidst his English thralls and churls, and they had been but few.

"Thou art not so skilled in fencing as Etienne; I should advise an hour or two in the tilt yard, and I can tell thee of some of his feints, which are not a little dangerous."

"Thanks, I shall not have too much time."

"Dost thou think the baron will give leave?"

"Yes; he hates me in his heart. Were I the better swordsman, he might not consent."

"I agree with thee--wert thou dead, Etienne would be heir of Aescendune. At all events, thou wilt go to confession and get thy soul in order--betake thyself to thy holy gear--men fight none the worse for a clear conscience. And I would ask the intercession of St. Michael--men speak well of him in Brittany, and tell how he fought a combat a outrance with Satan, wherein the latter came off none the better man."

"I shall see Father Elphege tonight--we are not heathen, we English."

"Ah! here comes Louis. Well, what news dost thou bring?"

"Good ones. Our lord permits the fight. You should have seen how stark and stern he looked when he saw his son's eyes. Wilfred, thou hast a fist like a smith. Wilt thou do as well with the sword?"

"Tomorrow will show."

"Well, it is quite right of thee to fight for thine own serfs; I would have fought for mine at Marmontier--none should have come between me and them. And I am glad we did not hurt the poor knave.

Etienne will be a hard lord for thy people, if anything happens to thee."

Oh, how the memory of his mother and her counsels came before the poor orphan.

Still, how could he help it? He had done rightly, he felt sure; and he knew that his father would say so were hec.u.ms alive.

"And so would my grandfather," thought he, "once the friend of the Ironside, of whose wondrous exploits he often told me in olden days around our winter fire. Would his spirit were with me now, and a little of his skill in arms."

And thus musing, he arrived at the castle and betook himself, with Pierre, to the tilt yard. Louis went off to seek Etienne, whose second he was to be.

CHAPTER VI. A REVELATION.

The night was growing dark when Wilfred approached the priory, with the intention of seeking Father Elphege, and putting, as Pierre had said, "his spiritual gear in order."

As we have remarked in other pages, men then attached no notion of sin to the mere act of fighting--there could not be a duty clearer to Christians of that strange epoch than to fight with each other whensoever the exigencies of society demanded--the very inst.i.tution of knighthood was bound up with the idea.